Midnight in Manhattan
by Late Nite
Summary: It's Christmas Eve, and Kim, Ron and Monique are enjoying themselves at a party. But then Kim gets a call - it's Drakken, and this time he's in New York... Ch. 4 up! Oh, and the R rating is just in case I feel like making it iffy...
1. At the party

Chapter One  
  
Twas the night before Christmas, and pretty much every single teen in Middleton was out partying. Or at least that was how it looked to Kim Possible when she walked in the door of one of the numerous parties that night in Middleton. It had started like most other parties that evening with a bunch of freshmen paying an older sibling to buy them a keg of beer and a few bottles of vodka. With alcohol in their possession they had decided to have a little party, and it had pretty much gone downhill from there. The celebration had escalated from a simple twenty-person affair to every single freshman, and most of the sophomore class, of Middleton High showing up at the front door in varying stages of inebriation. No one knew how the word had spread so fast - Kim had heard about it from Monique, who had heard about it from Vinnie, who had heard about it from Big Mike, and so on.  
  
Kim, Ron and Monique had all decided to walk to the party since it was so close and they had no intentions of trying to drive home drunk. Once inside they each picked up a drink (Coke for the girls and a beer for an adventurous Ron) and found the nearest couch to crash on.  
  
They'd been marinating there for a while when Kim suddenly jumped up and went over to say 'hi' to Josh Mankey, who had just arrived with some of his 'buds'. Ron watched out of the corner of his eye; envious of Josh for having a girl like her crushing on him. It wasn't that liked her as more than a friend but that like every other guy in his grade he thought she was unbelievably hot. When he looked at her it was his libido that began to tremble, not his heart.  
  
Especially tonight, with Kim wearing a tight, dark green sweater and a pair of skin hugging jet-black pants. He had no idea how she did it, but for some reason she seemed tonight very well endowed in the chest area, and Ron was having a hard time keeping his eyes off 'the twins'. He knew with a heavy heart that she was wearing the outfit for Josh, not him, but that didn't keep him from staring at her almost constantly.  
  
"What's up," Monique asked, noticing the excited expression on Kim's face when she returned to the couch. Kim leaned over and whispered something in her ear before settling back down on the couch, smiling.  
  
"What'd she say?" Ron asked Monique quietly, hoping Kim didn't notice. Usually if Kim wanted to keep something private he respected her discretion - but this was about Josh, and so to him privacy didn't apply. This was mainly because Ron was extremely jealous and so wanted to know everything that went on between the two.  
  
"Kim says that she and Josh just had some kind of moment," Monique whispered in his ear.  
  
"What does that mean?" he asked.  
  
"You think I know?" she replied.  
  
"I should probably check with Josh, right?" Ron ventured, knowing they needed a second opinion on what the hell had happened.  
  
"I think so, yeah," agreed Monique.  
  
"Keep her busy for a while then," Ron told her while motioning to a jovial looking Kim who at the moment was sipping on her Coke, completely oblivious to the world around her.  
  
"Gotcha," Monique said as he rose from the couch with his empty glass in hand. He headed to the kitchen, pretending he needed a new drink, but instead he bypassed the bar and headed to the back of the house.  
  
Josh was outside, lying on a deck chair and watching a bunch of kids finish off a joint before beginning to chuck snowballs at each other. Ron managed to get pegged in the elbow as he approached, sending Josh into hysterics while Ron dusted the snow off his now damp arm. Approaching Josh, Ron could tell he had definitely been hitting the liquor a little from the dazed look in his eyes and his flushed complexion.  
  
"Hey dude, what's up," Josh greeted him amicably and motioned to the empty deck chair next to him. "Have a seat."  
  
"Don't mind if I do," Ron replied, adopting the same devil-may-care, too- lazy-to-get-off-my-ass attitude that Josh embodied.  
  
"How's it going? What've you been up to?" Josh asked, taking a sip from his beer before tossing Ron one from the six-pack he had chilling in the snow.  
  
"Thanks," Ron said, popping it open and taking a swig. "Haven't been up to much - what about you?"  
  
"Bout the same, 'bout the same. Hey, did you see Kim tonight?"  
  
"Yeah - I came in with her," Ron told him. Josh sat in silence, contemplating something for a few moments before speaking:  
  
"Damn she's hot."  
  
Ron had expected something a little deeper, but figured that Josh wasn't feeling too lucid tonight, and so played along.  
  
"Oh yeah, you're right about that," he agreed while feeling a twinge of guilt for saying something like that about Kim. Even though he did believe that she was probably the most beautiful girl in their grade, he still felt uncomfortable saying it out loud. He just didn't think it was something he should say about his best friend.  
  
"Hey, what happened back there when you two hooked up?" he asked, cutting right to the chase. "I heard someone say you guys had a moment or whatever."  
  
A puzzled look crossed Josh's face and Ron knew he had experienced no such moment.  
  
"Moment? What kind of moment?" he asked after a moment of thought.  
  
"I dunno, just a 'moment'," was all Ron could give as an explanation. Even the use of finger quotes around the word 'moment' didn't help.  
  
"We-ll, I did grab her ass. Maybe that was it," Josh said.  
  
"Nah, I don't think so," disagreed Ron. He was about to get up and go back inside to his seat now that he knew the moment Kim had experienced never really happened. But then Josh said something that caught his attention.  
  
"Yeah, but it was a nice ass," he pointed out. "You know, like the really tight. firm ass that's still just so soft and. mmh!"  
  
Ron sat and watched Josh fantasizing over his best friend's ass, and slowly his temper began to rise.  
  
"I know what you mean," said Ron, trying to act normal.  
  
"And hopefully I'll get some more of it later on," Josh confided in him.  
  
"What?" Ron sat up, suddenly suspicious.  
  
"I'm gonna get myself a little Christmas booty - if you know what I mean," said Josh, winking at Ron. "When the clock hits midnight, I'll be in bed hittin Kim. It's gonna be awesome with her hot little body underneath me. You should listen for it; she's gonna be moanin and wailing as we do the horizontal mambo."  
  
"Over my dead body," Ron growled.  
  
"Sorry, what'd you say?" Josh asked Ron, who was rising up from his deckchair. These were his last words before he was hit full in the face with a plastic deckchair which knocked him onto the snow-covered patio. Everyone around them took at step back as Ron began to rail blows down onto Josh, not wanting to be hit by a stray fist. They watched in silence for a while and then realized it was a fight - so they began to egg Ron on with calls of "Yeah, kick his ass!" and "Go for the groin!" But their words fell on deaf ears, since Ron's mind was too clouded with rage to register anything other than the sight of him kicking Josh repeatedly in the stomach and face. He then pulled him back to his feet to give Josh the chance to land a few half-hearted blows against his upper arms and chest before pummelling him in the face.  
  
Monique heard the cheering and told Kim to keep talking to Tara while she went to check what was going on. Once out back, she was horrified to see her friend going after a now blood-covered Josh, who was past the point of trying to retaliate. Slowly he was backed up against a wall, where Ron grabbed him by his hair and slammed his face into the red brick again and again.  
  
"What's going on? Why are they fighting?" Monique asked the nearest kid - an acne freshman.  
  
He looked back quizzically before replying: "You call that a fight? That's a one sided ass kicking."  
  
"Yeah, I got that," Monique replied sarcastically. "But why'd it start?"  
  
"No idea," the kid replied, turning back to the action.  
  
"Josh started talking about doing some girl and Ron flipped," the pustuled freshman's friend told her, having overheard their conversation.  
  
"Which girl," asked Monique, hoping it wasn't Zita - it definitely wouldn't help Ron's chances if he got the reputation as her psycho, overprotective bodyguard. Especially if she saw what Josh's face looked like after the fight.  
  
"That cheerleader that everyone thinks he's got a crush on - Kim something or other. saves the world and stuff. you know her, right?"  
  
"Yeah, I know her," Monique replied, turning to watch the fight again. She was torn between going in and pulling Ron away, or going in and helping him hold Josh's head up. Even though she didn't like seeing Ron beating the crap out of someone, she was glad to see Ron cared enough about Kim to want to protect her.  
  
Ron was now holding Josh up by the lapels of his blood soaked jacket, talking quietly to him as everyone watched.  
  
"Listen to me," Ron commanded, slapping Josh a few times to get his attention. "I don't care if you like Kim or if she likes you - but if you ever, ever say something like that about her again, I WILL kill you."  
  
He then let him drop to the ground, and walked back into the house. No one moved for a moment, shocked that the fight was over. They let Josh lie on the snowy ground groaning, fearing that Ron would come back outside and start wailing on anyone who tried to help him up. Slowly the crowd dispersed, each member retelling the fight blow by blow to each other like commentators after a sports game. And though no one mentioned it they had all heard Ron's threat, and had silently decided not to mess with Kim - ever.  
  
Meanwhile Monique led Ron back to the couch. They never spoke, but he knew that she had seen the entire fight, and yet wasn't a bit angry. At that moment he realized how lucky he was to have a friend like her.  
  
"Hi Monique, Ron," Kim greeted them as they sat down on opposite sides of her. "Where've you been?"  
  
"I went looking for Josh, to see if he wanted to join us," Ron explained, covering himself well. "But I think he's already left for another party."  
  
"That's weird," observed Kim. "He told me he'd be here at least until one in the morning."  
  
"I guess he changed his mind," Monique said, trying to steer Kim away from the subject of Josh. "You guys want anything to drink?"  
  
"A Coke thanks," Ron replied as she got up.  
  
"Me too, thanks Monique," Kim said.  
  
"Be right back," Monique said, leaving Kim and Ron alone.  
  
"So, how's it going?" Kim asked nestling back against the soft leather armrest.  
  
"Pretty good, pretty good," Ron replied nonchalantly, pulling a half eaten hot dog out from under him. He threw it away in disgust once he realized what it was.  
  
"Aw, that is so wrong!" he exclaimed while Kim giggled.  
  
"So, what have you been up to besides sitting on rotting food?" she asked. But before he got a chance to answer, she placed a finger to his lips and said: "Let me guess - downing snackage, playing Fortress with Rufus and sleeping till noon."  
  
"Close," Ron countered. "But it's Space Troopers - the only video game where you get an Uzi in a space station and have to hunt down mutated astronauts with six heads."  
  
"Sounds thrilling," Kim said sardonically. "And that's all you've been doing?"  
  
"Yeah, but it's the vacation. I guess you expect me not to wake up late on vacation? Huh, that's like not cheating on a test - you're just hurting yourself if you don't do it."  
  
"That's a joke, right?" Kim asked, worried.  
  
"Uh, yeah. a joke. sure," Ron replied while trying to act innocent. "So, what've you been up to?"  
  
"Mostly Christmas shopping," she said, smiling as Ron's face brightened.  
  
"Ohhh, Christmas shopping. Anything for me?" he asked excitedly.  
  
"Maybe," she teased.  
  
"What does that mean?"  
  
"That means you don't get any present if you haven't been a good boy this year," Kim replied playfully. Ron began to wonder if she was coming onto him. Her husky voice certainly sounded like it.  
  
"I can't believe you would think I've been anything but!" Ron exclaimed, playing along.  
  
"Prove it."  
  
"We-ll," Ron hesitated, trying to come up with something. "Would helping you with the whole save the world thing count?"  
  
"Probably."  
  
"Score - now where's my present?" he asked, hoping it was something cool, since Kim was usually great at picking out gifts.  
  
"Why don't you come and get it," she invited and from her warm tones, Ron knew she had been hitting on him. Her relaxed posture and her dark, lustful expression was all he needed to realize what Kim wanted - for him to kiss her. He was right - she did always know the perfect gift to get him. In a trance, not caring why she had decided to let him make out with her, he leaned into her tempting mouth. He was close enough to smell the sweet scent of her perfume; with their lips barely an inch apart, when he heard a familiar ring from her purse. Kim groaned in exasperation, but still pulled the Kimmunicator out and switched it on.  
  
"What up Wade?" she greeted him with less enthusiasm than usual.  
  
"Hi Kim. am I disturbing something?" he asked, sensing his call had interrupted a private moment.  
  
"No, it's okay, don't worry," she replied, trying to hide her annoyance at the interruption. "What do you need?"  
  
"Drakken and Shego just robbed a series of banks in New York and now they're waiting at the airport for a flight out. The local law enforcement officials have asked for your help in capturing them," he told her.  
  
"Wade, can't they handle this one," Kim protested. "They have SWAT teams and stuff, don't they?"  
  
"Yeah, but now that Drakken's stranded at the airport because of a snowstorm he's taken hostages," replied Wade. "He's threatening to kill them off one by one if he doesn't get a plane within an hour."  
  
"Alright, we're coming," Kim promised. "Where do we need to go?"  
  
"I've got you a ride at the Middleton Space Center, so do you think your parents could drive you there?"  
  
"Sure thing," she replied. "I guess I'll talk to you later?"  
  
"Call me if you need anything," he told her before signing off.  
  
After grabbing her coat, she said goodbye to Monique - who was still standing in a line for the Cokes - and then she and Ron were out the door, trudging through the snow to her house. 


	2. Getting there

Chapter Two  
  
Though it was a holiday, the Space Centre was still open and fully staffed. Escorted to the mission control centre by an armed guard, they Kim and Ron were led to where Bob Hutchins - the centre's director - sat. He was seated in a large leather chair at the topmost of three computer banks, all facing a large concave wall covered by movie theatre style screens. One displayed an oval map of the world, with dashed blue lines to indicate where each of the Centre's satellites was above the Earth. But the other, usually devoted to a constant readout of each craft's telemetry and speed, displayed a huge map of the contiguous United States. A northward curving line from Middleton to New York City was superimposed on the map - what Kim guessed to be their route that night - along with a series of figures, and the word MRBT1.  
  
"Ms. Possible, I appreciate you two getting here so fast," Hutchins them, rising from his seat to shake hands.  
  
Kim was still wearing her party clothes - having not had the opportunity to change - and the middle-aged, unmarried man's eyes roved over her body. But she tried to ignore it while speaking:  
  
"Not a problem. Now, Wade told me he'd arranged for a ride to New York from here. I hope we're not causing too much trouble in asking for one."  
  
"Oh of course not!" he assured her jovially. "After helping us with that faulty space shuttle we're more than willing to lend a hand."  
  
"That was so not a big thing," Kim said humbly. "It was just skydiving from ninety thousand feet onto something with a surface temperature of over one thousand degrees Fahrenheit. I'm just glad I packed oven mitts and a bottle of water."  
  
"And for some reason I wasn't there for that one," Ron observed. "Wonder why?"  
  
"So, how do you plan to get us to the Big Apple Mr. Hutchins?" Kim asked, trying to get him to stop staring at her chest, practically drooling onto his shirt. "I heard it was completely snowed in."  
  
"It certainly is," he agreed, tapping a few keys to bring up a moving satellite image of the current weather. The entire east coast was a massive swath of white, and Kim could see another storm primed to pounce on Middleton. 'At least we're going to have a very white Christmas this year,' Kim thought to herself.  
  
"Dr. Drakken's ultimatum means that there is no possibility of getting you there in time by either ground or conventional air travel," explained Hutchins. "So we've decided to let you try out a new toy of ours that's just begun its flight tests."  
  
"What type of toy?" Ron asked doubtfully.  
  
"It's called the Medium Range Ballistic Transporter, or the MRBT for short," Hutchins replied, tapping a few more keys to pull up a 3D model of the craft on the large screen. "It launches like any other rocket at the Centre, but its short burn-time means that it doesn't achieve normal orbital altitudes. Instead, once it reaches about 100,000 feet ASL the engines shut off and it slowly arcs back down to Earth. You can see from the imagery I've put up that it's designed to glide very easily, which is what it does on the descent leg. Like a normal aircraft it's equipped with a landing gear, flaps, airbrakes and small thrusters in the rear in caaassss. ewwww. nee." Hutchins voice trailed off, his speech slowing to nothing - his jaw even had dropped open half an inch as he spoke, all the while staring at the adolescent girl in front of him. Kim waited a few moments, watching in annoyance as he stared at her tits.  
  
"Like my top, Mr. Hutchins?" she asked sweetly. "It's green, now get over it," she continued coldly, crossing her arms in front of her bust. This snapped the man out of his trance, and he continued to talk as though nothing had happened - completely unembarrassed.  
  
"The craft is equipped with a GPS system so you'll be given a path to follow on the electronic map. Since we've also put in a flight director system all you have to do is follow the red markers on your artificial horizon and the moving map on the central pedestal. With both of those working you should be fine."  
  
"All right," Kim said, unsure about Hutchins after his lack of embarrassment at being caught staring at an underage teenager. Either it was from a lack of sleep - it was almost midnight now - or simply that he was a dirty old man, but either way she was wary of him.  
  
"I don't need to go over any of it again?" he asked.  
  
"No, its okay," she assured him. "I got most of it, and we'll figure out the rest once we're up there."  
  
"That doesn't sound very encouraging," Ron whined, causing the director to chuckle.  
  
"You kids these days." he said, thinking Kim had been joking about figuring the controls out 'on the fly'. "I'll just let you go over and see Tom Weldon, our MRBT chief - he'll give you a quick run-through of the cockpit and get some flight-suits for the mission."  
  
Hutchins pointed to a man of about Dr. Possible's general age and size, only with less hair and thick horn-rimmed glasses - a typical rocket scientist.  
  
"Thanks again for the help," Kim said before walking over to where Weldon stood talking to a few colleagues.  
  
"Did you see him?" she whispered to Ron once they were out of earshot. "What a perv."  
  
"Hey, don't knock him," Ron replied. "Maybe his wife isn't giving him any. You know, withholding it until he paints the house or something."  
  
Kim snickered quietly, imagining the tall, gangly man pleading on his knees with his naked wife. "Ron! That's really mean!"  
  
"No it's not," he corrected. "It's really true. He's a dirty old man - admit it."  
  
"Be quiet, people can hear you," Kim shushed him as they approached Weldon, and tried to keep a straight face. The MRBT chief was calling out orders to his subordinates while checking items off a clipboard - all the time glancing up at a large digital clock on the wall with a harried expression.  
  
"Now, I need you to get the ship prepped, and fill the tanks immediately - we launch in twenty minutes," Weldon ordered as they approached. His voice was calm and composed, yet his face showed the strain the mission was placing on him. "And would someone find me Ms. Possible; I thought she was supposed to be here half an hour ago."  
  
"Right here," Kim piped up from behind him. Weldon turned around and quickly shook her hand and led them into a side room. From the benches in the centre of the room, and the coat hangers set against the walls they could tell it was clearly a mission prep room.  
  
"Good to see both of you," he said, closing the door once they were inside. "We don't have enough time to go through all the finer points of flying the MRBT, so hopefully the computer should be able to help you with everything. But you've both flown before, right?"  
  
"Correct," answered Kim. "We had to land the experimental plane my dad had designed - it was during that whole Monkeyfist in space thing."  
  
"Good, so you know where all the basic controls and instruments are?"  
  
"Yup."  
  
"What about airbrakes, flaps, thrust levers," Weldon asked.  
  
"All on the central pedestal, right?" cut in when a puzzled look crossed Kim's face.  
  
"Correct," Weldon confirmed before turning around to open a closet filled with orange flight-suits.  
  
"How'd you know that," Kim asked Ron quietly, surprised at his answer.  
  
"Hours and hours of playing Flight Simulator," he replied.  
  
"So you think you can fly this thing?"  
  
"Not a chance."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"I'm really good at remembering where everything is, just not at how to fly the plane," he told her sheepishly.  
  
"Oh," Kim said, glad she was a little more experienced.  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Ms. Possible, Mr. Stoppable," Weldon said, turning around with two of the suits in his hands. "I need you to get changed into these pressure suits for the ride."  
  
"Pressure suits?" Ron asked suspiciously. "Why pressure suits."  
  
"You may need them - in case of a bail-out," Weldon explained.  
  
"No one ever said anything about a bail-out," Ron observed suspiciously.  
  
"Ron," Kim hissed when Weldon left the room. "Don't worry. These people are just really careful - I swear it's not that dangerous."  
  
"Yeah, kinda like you swore that Monkeyfist was 'a really nice guy'," he hissed back, imitating Kim's feminine voice by raising his a few octaves.  
  
"Very funny," she replied dryly as they began to get dressed.  
  
"Thanks," they said as he walked out. Kim opened the duffel bag she'd brought along from home and pulled out her mission clothes. Ron had already managed to struggle into his on the car ride over, but Kim opted to wait and not give herself a wedgie. Now she quickly stripped down and redressed - all the time making sure Ron had his back turned - before pulling the suit on over her mission clothes. Once they were both fully dressed; looking like a pair of highway cones in the reflective tangerine suits, a pair of technicians dressed in white walked in. They quickly attached the helmets and glove to the proper appendages and pulled the metal slides back to seal them closed.  
  
Luckily, the faceplate of the helmet was raised so that they could breathe. The technicians told them that the gold tinted slide would only be closed in case of an emergency since the dark glass seriously impaired their vision, but that they would have to lower the Plexiglas section before launch. Ron tried to ask why but Kim cut him off; knowing the answer wouldn't be good. They were then led through a glass walled walkway to the launch-pad. Housed in the central-most building at the MSC, the MRBT sat on its tail pointing towards the ceiling.  
  
A year earlier, Kim had been assigned a report on the Space Shuttle for her Computer Science class - why, she had no idea - and she found herself comparing this craft to the plans she had seen of the Orbiter. It, like the Shuttle; was attached to a large umber, metal fuel tank; whose contents would feed the engines during takeoff. The MRBT was built for high manverability and even higher speeds with its small, sleek design. The fuselage was about twenty-five meters long; narrow and smooth sided with two large rocket nozzles blossoming out the back. A band of thin, angular windows which encircled the upper section of the nose was all Kim could see of the cockpit. She could tell that the plane had been designed so - when in flight - the pilots looked at the instruments in front of them, not out at the landscape below them. The large delta wing, curving away gracefully from the body and a swept back, triangular tail-plane were completely moulded into the fuselage - all lines were smoothed out to virtually nothing. It gave the craft the ambience, the sense of speed. Even stationary, it looked fast.  
  
The ship was painted a dark metallic grey, unlike the two tone Shuttle fuselage. Either it was a new type of heat shield, or the MRBT was designed to fly unseen. Ron noticed that the American flag and the words 'United States of America' had also been omitted from the body, which seemed unusual for such a craft. Usually the Space Centre like it when people knew they'd built the plane. Confronted with such a stealthy design, they wondered if the ship had been designed with a military use in mind.  
  
The technicians ushered them across the pad to an elevator, which they rode up to the launch control centre where Kim had watched Monkeyfist's stolen rocket lift off with Ron aboard only months before. With the MRBT's rounded nose visible through the large glass windows, the two pilots were hastily explained their flight-path before being taken another prep room. A clump of technicians awaited them, and quickly attached various cords and tubes to their suits once they sat down on benches in the centre of the room. Radio, life support monitors and atmospheric pressure sensors were quickly snapped on without a word between the men, the oxygen purification system being the last to be connected.  
  
This was a large, briefcase sized box covered in a thin layer of white cloth for shock protection. Two tubes ran from each box to the pressure suits, sliding into holes above the pectoral muscles. Any carbon dioxide exhaled would exit through one tube, be purified in the box, and re-enter the suit as oxygen through the other. This meant that neither of the pilots had to carry a large oxygen tank, and there was even a small store of oxygen in the tank in case of emergencies. They were warned that the system would hook into the MRBT's oxygen supply about three minutes after launch with a loud hiss.  
  
"Thanks," Kim told them as she was led out with Ron onto the orange access walkway. She tried not to look through the metal mesh floor to the hard concrete twenty meters below her, but unfortunately she did. Kim had no idea why it made her dizzy, but the procession had to stop for a second while she regained her balance. She repeated her thanks to the technicians for their patience, and soon they were inside the MRBT. There both Kim and Ron needed a great deal of help climbing the ladder set into the floor up to their seats, and were eased into the large, padded chairs with the help of the now very limber and agile technicians. The plastic faceplate on the helmet was lowered when they were both seated, and a thumbs up was given as confirmation that there was oxygen flowing.  
  
As soon as the men tightened the straps to a point just short of suffocation they wished Kim and Ron good luck and left the cabin - closing the heavy, pressure resistant door behind them. Sitting with gravity pressing her body back into her seat, Kim sat patiently and listened to the chatter on the radio as the ship finished it's preparations for launch. Looking at the controls in front of her, she was pleased to see that most of them were ones she had used before. Kim knew from experience that trying to control something using unfamiliar controls and instruments was hard enough; and going faster than the speed of sound made it even more difficult. And so a little slice of anxiety faded from her mind, only to be replaced by another worry or wonder.  
  
Ron, on the other hand, was finding no solace in the cockpit, and instead was trying not to remember that he was about to fly in something little more than a big bottle-rocket. The words 'Remote Command Active' displayed on all the screens were especially worrying, since Ron was inherently distrusting of people controlling things from the ground. Especially after he'd seen a man fly a remote-controlled airplane straight into the ground on a clear, windless day - and he'd been an expert. So, he whiled away his time staring out the window in front of him at the large, burning white lights suspended from the hangar's ceiling and hoping they'd remember to open the launch doors soon.  
  
Finally, after what seemed like hours but was barely seconds, they both heard Hutchins' voice requesting a go, no-go status on all the MRBT's systems. Once everything was reported to be in order, he began the sixty second countdown to launch. Kim checked her watch - clipped onto the wrist of her suit - and noticed it had been only twelve minutes since they'd walked in the building. She hoped that the MSC staff had been given enough time to prepare the craft, especially since she was about to be shot up to 100,000 feet above sea level in it. But, with the countdown reaching fifteen seconds, she put the thought out of her mind, placing her trust in the men and women at the Space Centre, and hoped like hell they had listened during training courses.  
  
When Hutchins' reached ten, the call for engine start-up was made, and they heard a whirring somewhere behind their seats as the fuel pumps began to operate. At eight a deep rumble filled the cabin as the engines began their activation sequence. By five the force of the now-lit engines was shaking the cockpit like a soda can in the hands of a six year old. Kim and Ron were suddenly very glad for the foam padded ear flaps that kept their necks from being snapped off by the vibrations. The roar was deafening, and they could only tell when Hutchins had reached zero because the mission clock on the glare-shield switched on. They heard a series of groans as clamps and pipes were pulled away or blown off the side of the craft. The ship slowly began accelerating, and Ron looked forward to see snow falling through the now open launch doors; watching it pile up on their windscreen. He wondered if anyone had thought to deice the ship before it launched, but decided it was too late to worry anyway.  
  
The ship was quickly out in the open night sky, its engines lighting up the empty fields around the Space Centre like twin suns. Monique, still at the party with friends, looked up from the patio to see an arrow of blinding white light shoot skywards. Everyone froze for a second - some thinking it was a missile, others that it was Santa Claus on steroids - and watched in silence as the rocket ascended into the grey storm clouds hanging over the city. Its fiery tail glowed orange as it travelled upwards, slowly rolling over to the east, and Monique whispered "Good luck Kim," as it slowly faded into the night.  
  
The scene was not so peaceful in the cockpit, with the ship still shaking furiously as it travelled heavenwards at thousands of feet per second. Kim watched the altitude readings shoot up and though the numbers were going by so fast she could never read actual digits - she just knew they were really, really high up. Once the ship was through the clouds, the two passengers had an unprecedented clear view of the starry night above them since all the light pollution was filtered out by the clouds. They sat and watched the stars twinkle quietly above them, lost in the beauty of the moment, even while the cockpit shook and shuddered like a nudist with hypothermia. Just then a loud bang startled both of them, and Kim looked on the screen to see that the fuel tank had just been jettisoned. 'They could have told us that would happen,' Kim grumbled to herself as the nose dropped to an almost horizontal position at approximately 98,000 feet above sea level. The engines were still burning, and she wondered when they would cut out and the gliding portion of the flight would begin.  
  
This was when the real roller coaster ride began, when the nose started to dip earthwards while the engines still burned at full power. Ron let out a frightened yelp, and Kim's eyes flared to the size of saucers as they plummeted ground-wards. The engines suddenly cut out, and they continued to fall noiselessly to the Earth; powerless to stop it since the controls were still on remote pilot. This was an unexpected reassurance, since Kim knew that unless any of the employees at MSC were feeling particularly murderous, they would do their best to keep them the pilots alive. Especially since the ship she was in command of probably cost something near to billion dollars to build.  
  
"Ms. Possible, Ms. Possible," a male voice called out on the radio. "Do you read me?"  
  
"Loud and clear, sir," Kim replied, recognizing the voice as Chuck Barrington, a radio operator back at MSC. "What's up Chuck?"  
  
"Not much at the moment," Barrington admitted casually, having dropped the terse, controlled voice once he realized Kim knew him. Though his voice was still clear and his words well articulated to keep instructions as understandable as possible; the calm in his voice relieved some of the tension in the cockpit. "We're still controlling the plane from back here, and I'm supposed to tell you that you're now in the second stage of your flight."  
  
"That would be the one where we fall really, really fast?" Ron butted in sarcastically.  
  
"That's right Mr. Stoppable. You should being pulling out of it at sixty thousand feet, and the RCS will shut off pretty quick after that," Chuck told them.  
  
"Until that happens we just sit still?" Kim asked as the plane passed through a patch of rough air, rocking the craft to the side a little and making Ron yelp again.  
  
"That's right," the operator replied. "But it's only for another twenty seconds - you're already at seventy five and dropping fast. We'd like you to give us a shout when you have control of the ship; just so that we can make sure everything's okay and give you an update of the next portion of your trip. Roger that?"  
  
"Roger that," said Kim. "Over and out."  
  
"Over and out," Barrington replied, and a click signalled the disconnection of the radio for the time being.  
  
He had been right - they had very little time to wait until the plane slowly began to rise out of its dive; its speed decreasing slightly as the nose rose to an angle descent of about five degrees.  
  
"Remote command system shutoff in fifteen seconds, pilot control requested," a stern feminine voice called out. "Place hand on control yoke, place hand on control yoke."  
  
Sensors on the control yoke were activated by touch, and once Kim gripped it with her left hand - placing her arm on the plastic rest provided for comfort - the computer spoke again:  
  
"Pilot response positive, RCS shutdown in ten. nine. eight." Kim listened intently and hoped in her mind that she could actually fly this thing. But now was not the time for second thoughts, and she swallowed her fears as the joystick stiffened slightly in her hand.  
  
"RCS shutdown complete, manual control now active," the voice informed them as the displays suddenly lit up; showing the artificial horizon, radar screen, engine monitoring system and everything else as Kim had remembered it from her last piloting experience.  
  
"That was easy enough," she commented to Ron, and made a few slight adjustments to the craft's attitude before contacting Middleton control:  
  
"MSC, this is Kim Possible. Do you read me?"  
  
"We read you, Ms. Possible. How's it feel to be flying?" Chuck asked her cheerfully.  
  
"Let's not jinx me, all right?" Kim replied jokingly.  
  
"If you insist," he answered. "Now, you should have pulled out of the dive by now. You're on a slow, gliding descent, right?"  
  
"Yep," Kim confirmed, checking her instruments as she spoke.  
  
"From here it's a pretty smooth ride down to about ten thousand feet," Barrington told them. "So you'll have plenty of time to get used to the controls."  
  
"What's past that?" Ron asked; taking over the radio conversation as Kim flew.  
  
"One of the largest snowstorms the east coast has seen this century," was the operator's blunt reply.  
  
"Wonderful," moaned Kim and Ron in unison.  
  
"The computer should guide you through that pretty well though," Chuck assured them. "The final approach and landing are going to be the really hairy part though. New York has almost three feet of snow on the ground and JFK's snowploughs gave up hours ago."  
  
"So how're we gonna land?" asked Ron.  
  
"We're going to have you do a hard landing. It's where you land with your landing gear retracted. You'll have to land as slow as you can, and get on the ground really quickly," advised Chuck. "We've got it set up for you to land on runway 13 Right; their longest one. It's about 14,500 feet long, so you shouldn't have too much of a problem getting stopped in time."  
  
"Sounds fine," Kim replied before Ron had a chance to express his displeasure. "Anything knew on the Drakken situation?"  
  
"Not that I know of," Barrington replied. "We just got word that the deadline has been extended by fifteen minutes. You won't be so pressed for time now, but the storm's beginning to move out to sea."  
  
"What does that mean?" inquired Ron.  
  
"If it stops snowing, Dr. Drakken knows that the airport can have a runway cleared, and ready for a plane to depart on in ten minutes. With all the flights grounded because of the storm, he'll have no trouble finding a plane or pilot to get him out of the country within minutes either."  
  
"So I take it we still need to get down there quick, fast and in a hurry," Kim observed grimly. "All right. Well, thanks for the help Mr. Barrington. We'll call you if we need anything else."  
  
"Roger that. Over and out."  
  
"Over and out," Kim said, ending the conversation.  
  
The cockpit was silent with the pilot now concentrating on flying as the craft passed through some high altitude trade winds as they entered the jet stream over Cincinnati. Ron listened in on the radio as commercial flights below circled in to land, or at least tried to in the blizzard. His ears were continuously assaulted with calls for identification by air traffic controllers as the MRBT shot over their sectors. The small, fast moving blip with no more than NA-0000X (the locator number the computer automatically gave an unknown aircraft) next to it was probably causing a great deal of angst down below, and Ron hoped that the Space Centre had bothered to inform the government of its midnight mission. Otherwise Kim might have to start playing chicken with a couple of FA-18s when they neared New York. To his relief he heard a military aircraft inform one of the controllers that it was a reconnaissance aircraft working for the national weather service, and that the man should stop bothering the poor pilots up there. Those 'poor pilots' shared a smile at the thought of a harried controller wondering why in God's name would a reconnaissance aircraft become a multi-billion dollar weather balloon.  
  
The calm was broken when the computer once again spoke; requesting 'airbrake setting two'. Without prompting from Kim, Ron reached over to the central pedestal and moved the small airbrake selector lever to the left of the throttle quadrant backwards two notches. In response they heard a mechanical whirr from the rear of the plane, and Kim pitched up the nose as per the flight director's orders to keep the plane from dropping too fast. They watched wordlessly as the airspeed began to drop rapidly, and Ron placed his hand over the engine start-up switches in case they needed extra power.  
  
Fortunately the entire operation was being done to burn off some excess speed as they entered the lower atmosphere. Up until then they had been going at speeds exceeding the speed of sound as they raced the clock to New York. Now, with the custom built, damage resistant speed-brakes (which Ron saw were large slats rising up out of the trailing edge of the wing) their speed slowly ticked down to knots instead of Mach numbers. The nose was kept high to make sure the plane didn't begin dropping in altitude since the brake seriously affected how much lift the wings produced, and Ron watched in awe as they continued to descend with their nose raised at almost a twenty degree angle.  
  
Nearing ten thousand feet - with the first dark silhouettes of storm clouds visible out the view ports - the computer ordered the retraction of the airbrakes. Ron pushed the lever forward, and Kim dropped the nose slowly as they continued their normal flight-path. Calm once again resumed in the cabin, as the wind softened for a moment during the transition period into rougher skies.  
  
Soon though, the tension began to rise again, as they began to pass through the upper layers of the storm. Ron glanced down at the moving map to see the entire screen in front of them to be a massive yellow splotch. Even without reading the key he knew it wasn't a good sign, and he surreptitiously tightened his seatbelt a little more. Kim gritted her teeth as the turbulence rocked the ship back and forth, and kept her eyes glued to the artificial horizon. It was both too dark and too cloudy to see anything out the windows, so until they were within a few miles of the airport she wouldn't waste time looking at a matte black landscape. The winds grew stronger and stronger as they descended, and so did the snowfall. Ron reached up and switched on the de-icing system when ordered to by the computer, but did little else until they reached New York Approach airspace.  
  
"NA-zero-zero-zero-zero-ex, do you copy," a controller asked.  
  
"We copy," Ron replied, having been told to do so during their brief visit to the launch control centre in Middleton.  
  
"You guys look like you wanna land," the controller observed wryly.  
  
"Gee, ya think?" Ron asked sarcastically.  
  
"All right - your people called me about ten minutes ago," the controller told them. "So I've go you vectored in on runway 13 Right at JFK. We've got nothing else in the sky - everyone's too smart to try and fly on a night like this - so you can fly straight in on bearing one-three-zero to the airport. Since visibility's about a quarter of a mile I wouldn't advise even lookin' out your window for the city - you won't see a thing."  
  
"Thanks for the info," Ron said. "Anything else we need to know?"  
  
"Yeah," the controller remembered. "I've got fifty bucks riding on you guys making it out alive, so you'd better fly right."  
  
"Will do sir," Kim replied, the corner of her mouth upturned in a smile. "Over and out."  
  
"Over and out."  
  
They were now passing five thousand feet, and the weather was getting no better. The computer had automatically lit the landing lights when they passed the ten thousand mark, but it had made no difference. What used to be a dark grey wall of nothing in front of them was now a bright white wall of nothing, and the glow was beginning to give Ron a headache. He could barely see the edge of the wing out the rearmost view-port, and only because of the flashing strobe light on the forward tip did he know it was still there. To keep his mind occupied, and off thoughts of burning wreckage and mangled bodies, he began starting up the jet engines. Just in case they needed them, especially for the thrust reversers when they landed. The sequence was quick, and soon the twin turbofan engines in the rear of the craft were slowly spinning, set to idle.  
  
"Ron, you all strapped in?" Kim asked, groaning slightly as another gust of wind slammed into the ship.  
  
"Hell yeah!" he exclaimed, trying to lighten the mood a little. "You need any help?"  
  
"Sure. Whatever the computer says - do it."  
  
"Gotcha," he promised, and gripped the armrests firmly as they passed through another rough patch of air. By now they were being thrown all about the sky; one moment dropping, the next shooting up, followed by a hammering blast of air throwing them sideways. Ron had no time to worry about where they were going though, since he was soon engaged in extending flaps and trying to ignore the automatic; and annoying calls for the landing gear.  
  
"Hey Middleton," he called over the radio. "How do we get computer to take five on the landing gear?"  
  
"You can't, sorry," Chuck called back apologetically. "You're just going to have to live with it for a little while."  
  
"Thanks," Ron mumbled, none too happy with the reply. He sat silently for a moment, and then turned to the pilot:  
  
"Hey Kim, why do you always sign up for these jobs anyway?"  
  
"You tell me," she managed to reply before returning to piloting. They were now only a mile from the runway, yet the clouds showed no sign of breaking. A hush fell on the cockpit - its occupants too worried about the landing to try and make conversation. Both knew that commercial airliners fitted with the most high-tech instrument landing systems and redundancy after redundancy would never even attempt a landing in such weather. Yet here they were doing just that without any prior training, in an experimental aircraft that had probably never been aloft before and with no landing gear to boot. Ron extended the flaps fully and watched the sky for the runway. Kim didn't even bother, knowing that it wouldn't matter if they could or couldn't see the runway - they'd still have to land.  
  
At four hundred feet from the threshold the flashing approach lights finally came into view, followed seconds later by the runway itself. It was covered completely in snow - an avenue of white. All they could see were the border lights burning furiously through the drifts. Both pilot and co- pilot breathed a sigh of relief as the ship floated down through the sky to the hard, secure concrete below. Kim made a few final adjustments to keep the wings level, and raised the nose slightly as they shot over the airport perimeter fence. A scarce sixty feet from the ground and only a knot above the craft's stall speed; the crimson threshold lights flashed beneath them seconds before.  
  
WHAM! The plane hit the ground with a jarring thud, and bounced into the air again before settling into the snow with a series of groans and crunches. Though they were now on solid ground, it wasn't over yet. Ron reached over and pulled the throttles as far back as they would go to activate the thrust reversers. Kim tugged the airbrake lever all the way back to one hundred percent, but it had little effect on their speed. Ron's last act before shutting his eyes in terror and compacting into a shivering ball of fear was to flick the braking parachute release button. They were jolted forward slightly as the 'chute opened up behind the aircraft, trapping air and creating drag to slow them. But it seemed to be doing almost nothing, and the craft continued to slide down the light-lined pathway with no sign of stopping. Its smooth underside found no traction with the slick snow, and they looked ahead to see a group of vehicles - with their lights flashing fluorescent orange - slowly begin to move out of the way. Kim tried in vain to use the rudder pedals and joystick to slew the craft sideways, hopefully slowing it. But the control surfaces were useless at low speeds. So Kim followed Ron's example and assumed the crash position.  
  
As if by a miracle, and with only a few feet to spare, the MRBT finally slid to a halt in front of the convoy of snow-cats and emergency rescue vehicles. Kim reached over slowly, her hand shaking faintly from the adrenaline, and flipped the fuel cut-off switches - in effect shutting down the engines. She then scanned the cockpit for any warning lights, and seeing none; unbuckled her seatbelt. Ron heard the click of the metal clasp releasing, and opened his eyes to the wonderful sight of all his body parts still in the right places. He retracted the airbrakes and slowly shutdown all the systems before undoing his own restraints. Both then removed their helmets and breathed deeply - savouring the fresh air seeping in from outside. It was a welcome change from the stale, onboard air and they both removed the oxygen supply tubes from their suits before rising.  
  
The hatch was surprisingly easy to open for something so bulky and complex. They slid down the yellow emergency slide to the awaiting airport officials where they were quickly covered in blankets (which were kind of useless, seeing as they were wearing suits resistant to minus sixty degree temperatures). Their ride to the terminal, they were told, would be there any minute.  
  
"Well, that was fun," Kim commented as she looked over at the petrified expression on Ron's face.  
  
"You'd better have a REALLY good present waiting for me at home," was all he growled in reply.  
  
Author's note: Hope that was fun. If any of you need a little help envisioning an MRBT cockpit, look for a picture of the A340-600 cockpit. Once you have it, just place two orange suited teenagers in the seats, add a little snow outside the windows, make the cockpit a little smaller and you've got it. Oh, and there's two more throttle levers than there should be for an MRBT, along with a lot less switches and dials.  
  
Oh, and I forgot to mention last time - I do not own Kim Possible or any other characters of the Disney Channel. Please don't sue me for whatever I write here.  
  
Next update on December 17th. Happy holidays! 


	3. Angels we have heard on high

Chapter Three  
  
"So, what's the sitch?"  
  
"Could you speak up please?" the policeman called back at Kim over the roar of the snow-cat's engine. They were bouncing along what had been taxiway Juliet - now hidden beneath almost four feet of snow - from their aircraft to the terminal area. Ron sat beside her in the cab of the first of three snow-cats that constituted their welcome party. Next to Kim sat Mark Benning; the airport's police chief, and next to him their driver.  
  
"I said: what's the sitch!" Kim repeated, yelling so the man could hear her. The drivers were really putting the pedal to the metal as they sped across the vast expanses of JFK's taxiway system towards the terminal area. When their ride had finally slid to a halt, it was almost two thousand feet from the nearest terminal building, and the delay in getting the snow-cats to their position was now making every second all the more crucial. Kim knew they didn't have long until Drakken and Shego started killing hostages, and so understood why the driver was really putting the pedal to the metal.  
  
"Dr. Drakken and his partner are still waiting with around thirty hostages in Terminal Two," Benning told them, speaking loud enough for both teenagers to hear. "We've got around twenty minutes now until the deadline."  
  
"What deadline?" Ron asked, practically screaming it in Kim's ear.  
  
"If we don't have a plane fueled up and ready to go outside the terminal by then, they begin executing hostages." Benning pointed to his watch in case Ron misheard him.  
  
"So what do you need us to do?" Kim said as they neared the jumble of parked aircraft surrounding the terminal area.  
  
"We're still not sure," the policeman admitted. "I've got a team back at our operations center still getting the details down on our attack plan."  
  
"Let me guess - we're the surprise attack and everyone else's backup.  
  
"That's the long and short of it," Benning confessed apologetically. "I'm really sorry you two have to do this, and I know we're putting you in some real danger. But frankly, you're the only people who can."  
  
"Why?" Ron asked; a little annoyed that the entire New York police force couldn't handle two criminals.  
  
"Well, the plan is for a team to sneak in through the ventilation system. Once over the criminals, they drop down and deal with Drakken and Shego. Then they bust open the jet-bridge door and the backup team comes rushing in. Problem is the ventilation system is so small no one on the force can fit inside without going in unarmed. Plus, they're nowhere near as well versed as you are on dealing with a man like Drakken," Benning concluded.  
  
"Oh, Drakken's so not a big deal," Kim blew it off nonchalantly. "It's Shego I'm worried about."  
  
"Will you be able to handle her?" a concerned Benning pressed her.  
  
"Sure. It'll be fine," Kim reassured him; "though I would like to at least look at a plan of the building before we storm the place."  
  
"No problem, we've got an operations center set up in the baggage sorting hall," he said, as they passed the first few rows of aircraft parked on overnight stands. "It's got everything you'll need."  
  
"Sounds great," said Kim as she looked out as they passed another row of static airliners. Weaving through those alloyed behemoths, she noticed none of them were occupied; each of their engines covered with plastic sheeting to birds from nesting inside and all doors locked tight. The harsh lighting from towers high above the aircraft gave them an eerie appearance, with their wings creating huge, distorted shadows beneath them and the snow piling on their bodies glimmering in the fierce brightness. It was like a ghost town with everything ground to a standstill by the blizzard, which had yet to depart. Though the sun had only been setting when the first flurries of snow began to arrive in Middleton, Kim could tell this storm had been hanging over the East Coast for the better part of a day. The deep hollows in the snow underneath fuselages and three foot long icicles hanging from noses were a testament to the fact that these planes had not moved for over eight hours.  
  
"Kim, don't you think we need to check with Wade on this one?" Ron asked skeptically.  
  
"I don't think so," she replied. "They've got a pretty good setup here - and what can Wade do that they can't?"  
  
"You've got a point," Ron conceded after a moment of thought.  
  
Suddenly the headlights winked off and the convoy slowed as the snow-cat rounded a corner. Clearly the drivers were trying to go unnoticed as they hugged the red brick walls of one of the terminal buildings, inching past rows of unoccupied baggage carts with great care.  
  
"That's Terminal Two over there," the chief pointed out the left side of the cab, past the parked aircraft to a large grey building across the tarmac from them. It's strictly utilitarian design, with sharp corners and small windows, made it resemble more of a large warehouse than the anything else. It was one of those buildings that had been definitely designed during a time of architectural history when the term 'pleasing to the eye' was not included in the criteria for quality designs. Only the brilliant yellow glow radiating from every window gave the building a sense of habitation, and Kim thought she saw a figure pacing back and forth in front of one, but put it down to an overly active imagination.  
  
"Hmm, looks cozy," she commented.  
  
"Yeah," Ron agreed. "I'd bet good money the designers were on drugs," he paused for a moment. "Or maybe they weren't getting enough..."  
  
"We're here," the chief announced as they pulled up to the side of Terminal Two.  
  
"Thanks for the lift," Kim told the driver as they stepped out into the bitter cold winter night. He nodded in welcome, and then drove off to park his vehicle somewhere unseen. They were standing in front of a downward sloping ramp - evidently leading to the baggage sorting hall. They followed Benning down through the heavy snowfall - staying low to keep Drakken from spotting them in their orange suits - to a small door at the end of the ramp. There a pair of guards encased in fur lined parkas carrying sub-machine guns waved them inside, recognizing Kim even when dressed in her MSC flight-suit. Unlike what some would think, the baggage sorting hall was well lit and almost spotless - the floors were virtually dirt free, except for large puddles from melted snow. A team of what Kim guessed to be policemen and FBI agents were crowed around a series of tables near the doors, evidently trying to devise a plan of action.  
  
"All right everybody," the police chief's voice boomed out over the hall, "Kim Possible is here, so let's get ready to roll."  
  
They all crowded around both Kim and Ron, expressing their gratitude for their speedy journey. While Benning had been off in the snow-cats, it appeared the team of twenty or so men had come up with a plan to take down Drakken. They proceeded, first all at once and then slowly in turns, to explain the plan using maps, diagrams and fancy laser pointers - all of which were unnecessary. The entire thing was almost identical to what Kim and Benning had discussed on the ride over to the terminal. What had taken them a minute, these people were still 'fine tuning' - but it sounded all right to Kim. And luckily she got a chance to look at some blueprints, which one agent kindly handed to her. Though at moments a little overbearing and clumsy, she could tell that these men knew what they were doing. That didn't mean they were the most professional people she'd ever met - she found herself having to remind some of the younger FBI agents to stop staring at her chest.  
  
"Hey buddy," she said to one who looked to be about fifteen, "I'm up here."  
  
"Sorry," the man apologized, his face turning beet red. "Just thinking for a moment."  
  
"Sure ya were," Ron said evilly, enjoying the man's moment of humiliation.  
  
"Hey, don't think I didn't catch you looking. I saw those 'wandering eyes' back at the Space Center," Kim whispered in his ear. "You think I didn't notice it when I was changing."  
  
"What!" Ron exclaimed, feigning indignation. "I liked your shirt."  
  
"Sure ya did," she imitated him. He was about to shoot back a witty rejoinder when a senior FBI agent turned to them.  
  
"So what do you think?" he asked them both.  
  
"Hmm?" Kim asked, nudging Ron to keep him quiet, and also to remind him that they were on a mission. He could be perverted whenever he wanted to, just as long as it wasn't when other people's lives were at stake.  
  
"What do you think of the operation?" the man asked, a little annoyed with these adolescents apparent lack of respect toward him and his colleagues.  
  
"Looks good," Kim told him, glad she'd been paying attention during the briefing. They didn't have time to go over anything a second time. "We'll be ready to go as soon as we find somewhere to change."  
  
"Uh. I'm not sure if there's a place." replied the agent, glancing around the room. Kim groaned inwardly when she realized that she was the only female in the room and, from the looks of it, everyone save Ron was a single guy - and probably not very hot on the dating scene. The result: if she took off the flight-suit, she would be surrounded by every man in the hall - all trying to 'help her' get undressed. Luckily, shifting under her suit uneasily, she felt the familiar feel of her black tank top she always wore on missions. Somehow she'd forgotten that she had changed at the Space Centre before they'd left - and that she did actually have more than skimpy lingerie under her suit.  
  
"You know what," she told the agent, a mischievous thought creeping into her mind. "I'll just change here, okay?"  
  
The man's eyes widened in surprise as she and Ron - he having seen the sly wink she passed him - simultaneously began unzipping their suits, and shrugging them off. "Um, you know, I think there's a screen behind the." the agent ventured halfheartedly, his mind occupied with what might be under Kim's clothing. His eyes, along with those of practically every other man in the room, were focused on the slowly dropping zipper as Kim pulled it down from her collar to her hips. She smiled innocently at everyone before reaching up and pulling the heavy garment off.  
  
Kim watched in amusement as every single face dropped, when she shrugged off the heavy fabric to reveal clothing underneath - contrary to the bare skin everyone was hoping for. She was tempted to say something, and comment on how sad this crowd was to be hoping to see an underage teenager naked, but decided there were more pressing matters than that. Standing still for a moment, she placed a hand on her hip in impatience, until one by one the men snapped out of their own dirty little worlds.  
  
"Ready Ms. Possible?" the SWAT team captain asked, one of the few who had turned his head away politely when she had begun to strip.  
  
"Sure hope so," Kim replied lightheartedly.  
  
"Good enough for me. Let's lock and load boys!" he called back to his team, sounding like every trigger-happy policemen she'd seen on TV. She hoped this was just an act in front of visitors, but had a sinking feeling that it wasn't. Kim, Ron and twelve SWAT agents walked down the baggage hall into the gloom, calls of good luck following them. They walked down to one of the terminal's many service entrances - this one being near the check-in area. The captain unlocked the door, and motioned for Kim and Ron to step inside.  
  
"The ventilation shaft is right behind counter 106, on your left side when you enter the departures hall," the captain said, pointing in the direction of the counter. "It should travel straight for about 10 feet before intersecting with a vertical air duct. Take that up approximately 15 feet and you should run into another duct on your left. That's the main ventilation pipe for the southern side of the building - where Dr. Drakken is waiting at Gate 23."  
  
"Got it," Kim replied, turning to climb the stairs. "We'll call you when the place is secure."  
  
"We'll be waiting," the captain promised before closing the door, leaving them in the dark. Kim fished a flashlight out of her utility belt and switched it on, bathing the stairwell in a stark white glow. The harsh light of the halogen bulb created strange shadows against the stairs as they ascended them, and Ron stuck close to Kim in case Drakken had decided to wire the entrance with booby traps. He was so preoccupied with watching the shadows that he ran straight into her when she stopped to unlock the door to the check-in area.  
  
"Ron!" she exclaimed, grabbing the doorframe for support.  
  
"Sorry," he apologized, backing off to let her burn the lock off.  
  
"They'll pay for that, right?" Kim hoped as she gently pushed the door in case someone heard them.  
  
"We can blame it on Drakken," Ron reminded her as they stepped out of the dark service entrance into the equally dim departures hall. He guessed the gate area was the only place lit in the terminal because there was no one else in the building. The terminal had probably been evacuated when Drakken and Shego had taken the hostages.  
  
The ventilation duct was easy to find; a large metal grille set in the wall is hard to miss. Soon they were crawling on their stomachs - the duct being too small for them to even raise their heads more than a few inches off the floor - along the metal tunnel. Kim attached her flashlight to her right backpack strap so they could move faster, since having only one hand to pull her body along was getting a little tiring. Ron just followed her lead, trying as hard as he could not to stare at her ass as it shifted back and forth in front of him.  
  
He couldn't tell if it was that he and Kim hadn't seen each other much over the past few days, or that for some reason she looked unbelievably hot this evening. But it was wreaking havoc on his hormones and he feared that when the time came, he would be too preoccupied with Kim to keep from getting captured by Drakken. And then there was the whole Josh thing; how Ron had no idea if Kim still had feelings for him. Ron was still unsure of whether Kim had wanted to kiss him (and not Josh) at the party. It was driving him crazy, especially since half of his brain was telling him that Kim would never mess with his mind that way, while the other half was screaming that all girls love to do that. 'Whoever says that teenagers have it easy should be taken outside and hung from the nearest strong branch,' he grumbled to himself moments before again planting his face in Kim's butt.  
  
"Ron! Pay attention!" Kim exclaimed angrily, trying to keep her balance and not fall into the vertical ventilation shaft in front of her.  
  
"Sorry," he mumbled again, mentally kicking himself for being so stupid. Twice.  
  
"S'ok," she forgave him before reaching back into her belt for hair dryer cum grappling hook and firing it up into the dark recesses of the vent. A dull thud signaled the all clear for Kim to swing out into the shaft. Once the launcher was clipped to her belt, she swung back to the vent, and grabbed Ron's shoulders to pull him out with her.  
  
"Maybe you should warn me next time," he suggested once he had stopped screaming.  
  
"Just maybe?" Kim asked sarcastically, and made sure Ron was holding onto her tightly before pressing the 'Retract' button on the launcher. They rose rapidly for a few seconds before Kim spotted the south-side duct.  
  
After a few tries, they managed to swing into the cylindrical tunnel, detaching the cable from the launcher as they swung in. Kim somehow managed to land on Ron, her legs straddling him - definitely not what she had planned to do.  
  
"Well," joked Ron, "this is nice.'  
  
"Be quiet," she ordered, trying to keep the perverted comments to a minimum in case Drakken and Shego were listening. Kim could think of a hundred better reasons for being captured than Ron talking about her tits.  
  
They began to crawl slowly along the pipe; which luckily was much bigger than its predecessor and so they didn't have to lie flat. Making sure to avoid the grilles which looked down onto rows of blue plastic seats and airline desks, they quickly moved down the vent. At one grille, Kim managed to shift her head enough to read the sign above a desk and turned back to Ron to report her findings.  
  
"That's Gate 21, and Drakken's at 23. So we're almost there," she said to him before moving on. Now within fifty or so feet of the villains, they tried to keep their movements as silent as possible, which proved to be difficult in an aluminum tube. Kim's ears began to pick up irregular vibrations as they approached the next grille, and these soon transformed into voices - those of Dr. Drakken and Shego. As they approached the source of the noise, the conversation became clear, and it wasn't a happy one.  
  
"It's not like we wouldn't've had a place to stay," they heard Shego say below them.  
  
"Yes, but trying to stay hidden when the entire police force is looking for you ain't a piece of cake," Drakken retorted.  
  
"With me it is," Shego grumbled.  
  
"Shego!" Drakken exclaimed, losing his temper. "Just stop sulking - we're here now, so you can either leave now or stay and help me. And I think we know what the former will lead to."  
  
"What, prison?" Shego asked mockingly. "Like we're not going to wind up there anyways."  
  
"What's that supposed to mean?" interrogated Drakken warily.  
  
"Dr. D, name for me five hostage taking operations where the terrorists have gotten away," challenged Shego as she lay back on a row of seats, flipping through a New Yorker.  
  
"Um. ahh. well." Drakken stumbled, taking a break from his back and forth pacing to think.  
  
"Thought so," she said smugly.  
  
"Let me think Shego!" complained Drakken, pulling at his hair in frustration. "Geez, why bother complaining. You had a chance to talk me out of it. Why didn't you?"  
  
"Between the time we checked in to the time the airline guy told you the flight was delayed," she reminded him. "What was that, like three seconds? Oh yeah, I had time - not."  
  
"Fine Shego, fine. If you think this is such a bad idea then just go," Drakken suggested. "See if I care."  
  
"But that's the problem," she replied wearily. "If I leave, then in two days I'm gonna be at some maximum security prison breaking you out. And I gotta tell ya, they're getting better at the maximum security part."  
  
"So are you staying or not?" he asked, equally tired with the argument.  
  
"Sure, whatever," she conceded. While Drakken resumed his pacing, Kim watched as Shego rose from her seat and walked over to the collection of hostages huddled up against a wall. She scanned the group, each set of eyes watching in fear, hoping she wouldn't pull out a gun and start decimating their group. Once she was sure none of them had snuck off without the guards knowing - which wasn't difficult, since they were Drakken's run-of- the-mill, utterly clueless henchmen - she returned to her seat. Other than Drakken and Shego, Kim only counted four of Drakken's red-suited henchmen watching over the hostages. Though that term could only be applied loosely, since one was leafing through an issue of Hustler, while another leaned against the wall playing a Gameboy.  
  
"You clear on what we've gotta do?" Kim asked her partner, who was trying not to look through the grille - lest he realize how high up they were.  
  
"Yeah - you loosen the grille with your laser pointer while I hold it steady. Then you jump down and distract the 'odd couple' while I run over and unlock the jet-bridge door for the SWAT team," he recited quietly, wishing that for once he actually was the distraction. Though at times it meant getting captured - correction: most times - it involved a lot less work. All you had to do was run away and make a lot of noise - two things he was an expert at.  
  
"Remember to use the radio to give them the all clear," Kim pointed to the small Motorola two-way radio now clipped to his belt that Benning had handed him before they departed. "So you're ready?"  
  
"No, but that doesn't really matter," he whispered in reply.  
  
"Tell me something I don't know," Kim sympathized quietly, reaching back into her belt for the laser pen. Ron leaned forward and gripped the grille at two corners, holding it in place while Kim melted through sections of its frame. It was an acquired art; to be able to slice through the metal without completely breaking it off while keeping the bright amber beam hidden. Holding the pen at an awkward angle, Kim felt her hand shake slightly from the tension, and partly from adrenaline.  
  
She wondered why all night she had been surprisingly tense, something that had been annoying while trying to keep the MRBT on a straight flight-path. Her hand had been slightly unstable then, and now the tremors were returning - just when she needed them the most. For some reason the thought 'I really need to get laid' popped into her head, something that seldom happened. She paused for a moment, confused as to why her brain would bring up the subject of sex at such a moment. Though her brain did point out that for the past week she had been unbelievably horny - she'd even resorted to the internet to relieve the. pressure - she couldn't make the connection with the vibrations in her hand. Plus, she didn't have the time right now, and so willed her hand to be steady for the time being. Now was not the time for thoughts of jumping some guy's bones.  
  
Once the cutting was complete Kim placed the pen back in her belt and moved away from the grille Ron, already on the opposite side of the metal mesh, leaned back and extended one foot in preparation for kicking the grille out. The plan was for him to kick it out, and Kim to jump through once the opening was clear. But, as she rose up out of her crouch into a standing position - the duct being big enough for an adult to stand up in - she leaned too far forward.  
  
In one of the clumsier moments of her life, Kim had overbalanced and begun to topple down onto the grille. Fortunately she reached out and steadied herself against the wall of the duct, saving herself from a loud crash against the aluminum floor of the pipe. But the walls were also thin, sheet metal - and her hand made a loud clang as it impacted with the tunnel's side. She froze in terror, hoping it had been quiet enough to go unnoticed by Drakken and Shego below - otherwise they were as good as captured. If the element of surprise was lost, the entire operation would fail.  
  
Somehow her prayers were answered, and they heard no sound from below. Ron looked up in alarm when he heard the noise, and motioned for Kim to wait as he checked if the coast was clear. Regrettably he was at just the right angle so that the edge of the grille blocked his view of Drakken and Shego, making it impossible for him to see their reaction to the sound. Kim too had no way of seeing if they had heard it or not, and so the two slowly tried to shuffle around to get a better view.  
  
Meanwhile, both the villains below had heard the sound, and were silently planning what to do. They suspected it was a rescue team dumb enough to try and sneak in through the ventilation ducts, and Drakken hastily motioned for his henchmen to watch the surrounding gates for any sign of a backup team. He then turned to Shego and, as they had planned earlier on, hummed the first few bars of 'Angels We Have Heard on High'. She nodded, and pulled a small transmitter out of her coat pocket. Without a moment's hesitation she pressed down on the large button in the center, marked 'Detonate' and dived under the nearest row of chairs.  
  
Up above, a pair of charges placed about ten feet to either side of where Kim and Ron were hiding exploded. They were small balls of Plastique, and so there was no fireball racing down the vent to roast them alive. But Shego had designed them to be small, and had thrown them up on the duct once Drakken decided to use other methods to get a flight home. Magnetically attached to the vents, they were designed only to weaken the pipe, not to completely destroy it. The villains wanted the vent to simply crash to the floor, leaving their enemies stunned but alive. And it did just that.  
  
Drakken and Shego both had the presence of mind and forewarning to keep them from being hit by falling debris - and the hostages were already a good four feet from where the duct hung - so no one on the ground was hurt. The two inside the duct were, however, not so lucky, as a ten foot section of the pipe detached from its supports and came tumbling to the floor. Being thin and brittle (from years in a moist, warm environment) the pipe crumpled on impact with the carpeted floor. Neither Kim nor Ron had a chance to escape, or the time to even protect their heads before the ceiling and floor contracted in on them.  
  
Both were immediately knocked out.  
  
Author's Note: I know it's short and there are probably lots of mistakes (spelling and plot-wise) but proofreading is really un-fun. Will make up for it in the next chapter, I promise. Next update on December 24th, the big climax! 


	4. Lingerie and love

Chapter Four  
  
Both villains made sure everything that would fall had done so before cautiously approaching the wreaked piping. Drakken picked through the smaller pieces while Shego attacked the main section, lifting up massive pieces of sheet metal with her bare hands and throwing them to the side. Underneath one of the chunks she noticed a blue gloved hand poking out from beneath the largest single section of the duct. She lit her gloves; the clawed fingers pulsing green, and began to slash at the duct to reveal an unconscious adolescent girl underneath.  
  
"Well, well, well - if it isn't Ms. Little Teen Hero herself," Shego snickered. "And you thought she wouldn't show," she called over to Drakken.  
  
"Well, its Christmas for Christ's sake!" he exclaimed, walking over to where the fiery haired teen lay. "I didn't expect the police to be heartless enough to draw her into this. That's just evil."  
  
"And kidnapping two dozen innocent people and holding them hostage isn't?" Shego countered sarcastically. She slashed away at the metal near the girl to uncover a similarly comatose, fair haired boy.  
  
"Just tie them up," Drakken ordered wearily, not wanting to start another argument. Shego did as ordered; grumbling as she grabbed a roll of masking tape from the airline desk and used it to bind the girl's hands and feet together. A large, square, concrete pillar supporting the ceiling proved to be the perfect place from which to suspend the new captives. Shego used an entire roll of tape to hook Kim's handcuffs onto a conveniently placed light fixture protruding from the wall. Returning to where Ron lay, she had finished tying him up when she glanced over her shoulder to see Drakken once again eyeing the girl. But this time there was a hungering gleam in his gaze that had not been there before.  
  
"How 'bout no Doc." Drakken spun around, trying to hide the guilty look plastered across his face.  
  
"What do you mean?" he asked innocently  
  
"Just because you're a dirty pervert doesn't mean you can feel up your prisoners," Shego said, pushing him out of the way to begin binding Ron to the pillar.  
  
"Shego, I'm insulted!" he cried out, an injured tone in his voice,  
  
"Good for you," she congratulated him while putting the finishing touches on Ron's restraints, just as he began to wake up:  
  
"Huh, whu? Ahh. whe amei?" he mumbled, unable to get his jaw muscles to work properly.  
  
"Ah, the goofy one lives!" Drakken joked, smiling with glee. "So, how does it feel to be captured so easily?"  
  
"You think I care if I'm captured or not?" Ron countered, knowing where the good doctor was going with this one.  
  
"Well. You should be," advised Drakken, disappointed he couldn't begin a nice long villain's rant. They just never were the same with Shego - especially since she always had the nerve to interrupt him right at the good part.  
  
"Dude, I've been captured so many times I don't even bother running away any more," Ron said, motioning with his head to the bonds holding him against the support.  
  
"Fine, whatever," Drakken replied, returning to a seat by the window to rest. At least until the other teen - the one who bothered to listen most of the time - awoke.  
  
"Shego, any word on the plane yet?" he called over as she picked up her New Yorker again.  
  
"Nothing yet. But they've still got ten minutes - I think we should wait and see before we call again," she recommended, not even bothering to look up.  
  
"Aren't they supposed to call us?"  
  
"Yeah, if you want to sit here for the next week arguing with them over where the plane is," she agreed dryly.  
  
"Right."  
  
So they sat in silence, waiting for the cell phone by Shego's seat to ring. Neither of the two noticed when Kim began to come around, her head lolling from side to side. The hostages, still huddled against a wall and frightened out of their minds now that their rescuers were captives like they, noticed that she was regaining consciousness. They tried to keep it quiet; keep their captors in the dark, but Shego was too good. Too well trained to miss the nudges and nods in the direction of the pillar, she quickly realized what was causing all the excitement. Poking Drakken - who was beginning to nod off - she pointed at Kim. After a moment's observation, he nodded and got up.  
  
Kim, on the other hand, needed more than a few moments to realize where she was. What felt like a jackhammer against her head, coupled with soreness in a number of appendages didn't help her powers of deductive reasoning very much. Shaking her head to clear it, she felt the bonds tight against her wrists and ankles, pressing her against a wall of some sort. It didn't take much else for her to conclude that they'd been captured after the duct fell. Not that it was the end of the world, that escaping - and dealing with the mad doctor's equally deranged assistant while she was at it - was a problem. Almost weekly repeats of the usual 'take over the world' scheme by Drakken had given Kim enough practice so that she could practically do the entire thing in her sleep. But the fact that it was Christmas Eve was getting her pretty tweaked. She decided, as Drakken approached (probably to gloat), that he would receive a few extra knocks on the head as repayment for ruining her evening.  
  
"Has he already done the villain's rant yet?" she asked Ron hopefully.  
  
"Nah, I managed to stall him for a while," he replied quietly.  
  
"Thanks,"  
  
"Well Ms. Possible," Drakken sneered, "it seems all your teen hero tricks had failed you, haven't they?"  
  
"Yes, I'll bet they have," Kim replied halfheartedly, rolling her eyes at the villain's apparent lack of a clue. Like anyone even cared what he said - even Shego, his supposedly 'loyal' assistant never listened to him. But that had never stopped him before, and probably wasn't about to now either.  
  
"And you're probably wondering what I'll do next, hmm?" he asked excitedly, clearly enjoying himself.  
  
"No, actually I'm wondering when the hell you're going to buy a pack of Altoids," she retorted coolly. "Bad breath ain't exactly the best way to impress the ladies."  
  
"Finally, someone else noticed!" Shego called from her seat.  
  
"I wouldn't be making any witty comments right now Kimberly," threatened Drakken. "Otherwise I might have to -."  
  
"Have to what?" Kim cut him off. "Stare at my breasts some more?"  
  
Drakken blushed - which was a sight to see with blue skin - at her question. She had seen his eyes trail down below her collar from the moment he'd walked up, not that he had tried to hide it. By now, Kim was really getting tired of dirty old men 'mind-fucking' her while she stood by powerless to stop it. Even Ron didn't do it this much - though he did try to cop the odd feel on missions - and she knew he had a pretty imaginative mind when it came to sex.  
  
Now she knew that deciding not to change her lingerie before leaving for the Space Center was a bad idea. All of this trouble was being caused by a single piece of clothing - a little something from Victoria's Secret to be precise - that she'd bought as an early Christmas present for herself the day before. She'd wanted to wear something attention grabbing, something that would get her crush to notice her a little more at any big party she would attend on Christmas Eve. The garment had done what it was designed to do and, she noticed when she donned it, made her much more well-endowed in the bust area. It had worked great at the party, had just the effect she'd wanted it to - then the mission came up. And now she was stuck in a virtually deserted airport terminal on Christmas Eve (technically Christmas Day by now) with an infamous criminal - who probably hadn't gotten any since the seventies - staring at her tits. Kim made a mental note to never wear skimpy or enhancing undergarments on a mission again - ever.  
  
Fortunately, she realized that Drakken's unsated libido could be used against him in any escape plan. If she tried to simply break her bonds and make a run for it, Shego would have her on the floor in seconds. But if she somehow got Shego to leave the room, and then used Drakken to get her handcuffs off, everything would be (to quote Ron) hakuna. Only problem was, Shego was too smart to leave the room and leave 'blue boy' with Kim for a few minutes.  
  
And then; as if by telepathy, Shego rose from her seat, yawned loudly and said to Drakken: "I'm going to get a Coke. You want anything?"  
  
"No thanks Shego," he said uninterestedly.  
  
"Then try to tone down the pedophilia while I'm gone, kay?"  
  
"Yes. right," Drakken called back, not even bothering to listen. Though he did have the sinking feeling that he'd missed something important in the conversation. And after a brief pause, he yelled at Shego's receding back: "Hey, shut up!"  
  
Shego chuckled at her boss' stupidity as she walked around the corner, leaving Kim open to put her plan into action:  
  
"Hey Drakken. Come over here for a second, will you?" she called in the sexiest possible voice.  
  
"What is it Kimmie?" he said, teasing Kim by using the nickname she utterly despised.  
  
"My bra strap came un-done. It really chafes and I can't reach the clasp. Can you get it for me?" she asked sweetly, adopting the innocent schoolgirl voice that every pervert loves to hear.  
  
"Sure," he replied instantly, as she'd anticipated. And sure enough, as he reached around her chest his hands 'accidentally' brushed against her breasts.  
  
"Oops," he apologized, trying to hide his delight. But then his hands found the bra-strap still clasped tightly shut, and he froze in puzzlement for a moment.  
  
"Hey, there's nothing wrong with thi -," was all he had time to say. Kim brought her legs up swiftly, ramming them into his crotch. As he crumpled onto the floor groaning in pain, she ripped her hands from the hook holding her up against the wall and brought them down in a sweeping motion onto his skull. The impact was enough to daze him, giving Kim the time she needed to use her wristwatch laser to melt her makeshift cuffs in two. Bending down, she used the wristwatch to free her legs from their sticky prison, leaving her free to move about. She then grabbed Drakken from the floor and brought him to his feet; holding him in front of her as a human shield. The onrushing henchman stopped short when she placed one hand on his chin - with which she could snap his neck in one quick, fatal thrust.  
  
"Don't move, or you're gonna be suddenly unemployed" she threatened. "So throw your weapons over here and untie my friend."  
  
The henchmen, fearing for their paychecks, tossed their handguns over and proceeded to untie Ron.  
  
"Now lie on the floor face-first and stay there," Kim commanded before turning to Ron: "Get the masking tape quick, before Shego gets back."  
  
He gave her a quick thumbs up before jogging over to where Shego had laid the roll down.  
  
"And you - stop trying to cop a feel or I might just remove your nuts," she growled in Drakken's ear as his hand tried to reach around and pat her ass. Grabbing his crotch with her free hand, she squeezed hard to make her point.  
  
"Ngh," was all the villain said, trying to keep his scrotum intact.  
  
"I leave you for one minute and you're back to touching teenagers," Shego said as she walked around the corner, expecting to see Drakken pawing at Kim. Her eyes widened in astonishment when she saw him now held captive, and all of his thugs lying on the floor unarmed.  
  
"Every single time I leave the room." she mumbled to herself before lighting her claws and preparing to strike.  
  
"Ron! Deal with Drakken!" Kim called to him as she let go of her shield and charged at Shego.  
  
Ron tackled the blue-skinned doctor as he tried to make a run for it, and wrestled him to the ground - which wasn't difficult since Drakken seldom exercised. Within seconds he was bound with tape and immobile, leaving Ron to radio the SWAT team waiting at the end of the jet-bridge. He picked up the walkie-talkie from the pile of stuff that had been taken from them and switched it on.  
  
"You're good to go, repeat, you're good to go," he told the captain. A quiet "Roger" came back seconds later, followed by silence. Ron thought he could hear the sound of running footsteps up the jet-bridge as he unlocked the door, but it was probably his imagination.  
  
Meanwhile, Kim launched herself at Shego, who blocked her opponent's first swing with a stiff forearm. She swiped at the teen with her right arm, which barely missed Kim's abdomen as she back flipped away from her attacker. Shego rushed forward, reaching out at Kim's face, as if to peel her skin back. Kim leant back, as if playing limbo, and stepped away to avoid the lethal claws. Then, pivoting onto one foot, she kicked out with the other, hitting Shego in her stomach. The blow sent the raven-haired woman flying, but her innate sense of balance landed her on her feet. Moments later she dropped to one knee to avoid Kim's roundhouse kick aimed at her face.  
  
Grabbing Kim's leg, Shego flipped it counterclockwise to throw Kim off her feet and onto the blue carpet. Backpedaling furiously; Kim missed Shego's renewed onslaught by inches, saving her legs from amputation at the hip. She bunched her legs beneath her before springing upright, flipping over Shego and kicking her in the back once she landed. Again the woman was sent flying, but deftly cart wheeled to her feet. She ran at Kim, slashing at the air with her claws before raining blows down on her troublingly swift opponent. Kim blocked the punches adroitly, and stepped back to gain some room to maneuver. Pretending she was losing, Kim glanced around in desperation for an escape route. The trick worked, and gave the teen just enough of an advantage over her opponent to defeat her. It was all over very quickly when Kim flicked her foot out and caught Shego hard on the shin. Now on the floor, Shego never got the chance to rise, since the SWAT team burst through the jet-bridge door and quickly fanned out to cover the criminals. With team members covering the henchmen and a trio surrounding Drakken; the rest formed a loose circle around Kim and Shego.  
  
Knowing she had been defeated, Shego switched off her claws and raised her hands above her head in surrender. She was intelligent enough to realize that dying honorably in battle was a whole lot worse that spending a month in jail before escaping. So she allowed them to cuff her without a fight and carry her off to a waiting police van. Kim straightened her hair and walked over to where Ron stood next to a now properly handcuffed Drakken.  
  
"Did you really think you could have gotten away with something like this?" she asked him sourly.  
  
"I had my hopes," he replied sadly before being hauled off by a posse of policemen. "Well, that was an interesting evening," Ron commented, removing the last tatters of masking tape from his arms.  
  
"You call almost being killed interesting?  
  
"Well. No, not really, no," he admitted. Kim stood there in silence for a moment, thinking about something.  
  
"Damn!" she slapped the palm of her hand against her head in frustration.  
  
"Problems?" asked a concerned Ron.  
  
"I forgot to kick the crap out of Drakken," she confided in him.  
  
"Why'd you need to do that?"  
  
"Ron," she gave him a stern look. "He pretty much destroyed our Christmas Eve party session."  
  
"True," the sidekick agreed after a moment's contemplation. "Hold on a moment," he told her, and began to run after the retreating congregation of policemen, yelling for them to stop:  
  
"Hey, hold up! I still need to beat the shit out of Drakken!" he yelled down the length of the terminal as he sprinted past confused looking policemen helping the hostages up. "Wait for me!"  
  
Kim just smiled, and walked after him slowly. Strolling past the rows of chairs and airline desks, she found herself stuck on the image from the party of Ron inches from kissing her. That; and the entire charade about the 'moment' with Josh had simply been planned to gauge Ron's reaction. Ever since. well, for a long time at least, she'd had strong feelings for her, at times, clumsy best friend. Somehow, his caring heart and general likeability had drawn Kim close to him - much closer than was usual for friends. It had never been a 'strike of lightning' kind of affection, more of a gradual buildup of day by day occurrences. Like the jacket he bought her with his 'Naco' bonus money - something that she was sure had cost him upwards of one hundred dollars. But he had done it, and many other things that had made Kim wonder why the girls in their school weren't coming at him in flocks. But they weren't, and she was the only one who saw him for what he was - one of the nicest guys she'd ever met.  
  
Yet, while she had begun to realize this, Ron never seemed to feel the same way. Kim had no idea whether or not he felt as strongly for her as she did for him; but the party had changed all that. When she saw him walk back in from outside the house, his face flushed and his manner quiet, she knew what had happened. After seeing Josh and her together, he'd gone outside for a nice long think, one where he tried with all his might to see what Josh was doing right that he wasn't. But it was just the opposite - Josh could do nothing right, Kim had learned a few days after the Spirit Week dance, and it was Ron whom she was infatuated with.  
  
And now she had an entire plane ride home from Teterboro in a private government jet to explain her feelings to Ron. All she had to hope for was that the feelings of infatuation were shared by them both.  
  
Author's Note: Well, there it is folks, the big ending. Tune in tomorrow, December the 25th, for a little something extra. 


	5. Finale

Chapter Five  
  
Christmas morning is usually a grand affair for the Possible household. Every December the 25th, the children rise in unison with the sun at seven in the morning and rush downstairs to eye the presents beneath the tree. One of them - usually Kim, since the tweebs are always too busy ogling the gifts - is then sent up to wake the parents. After their own, private Christmas tradition of pleading for 'just five more minutes' of slumber; they don their robes and follow Kim downstairs. Once Dr.'s Possible had poured their first cups of coffee and have it reach their mouth at least twice, it's a free-for-all. A sumptuous breakfast follows presents, and then an afternoon of lazing about and playing with presents ensues. Kim, being a teenager and SO past the stage of playing with toys, usually reads in her room or meets up with Ron to hang out for a few hours. The entire affair ends with an evening with friends invited over to the Possible residence for dinner.  
  
But this morning was different, since by ten to nine Kim had still not stirred. Despite her mother knocking on the door half an hour earlier; and every five minutes after that at the insistence of Jim and Tim, she was still fast asleep. Apparently she had forgotten which day of the year it was since, like her brothers, Kim was a sucker for presents and usually the first up (it was also her job to start the coffee pot). Only a moan from beneath the covers was proof that she was actually in her bed, but gave no indication as to when she would leave it. The twins had been getting more and more fidgety as the minutes dragged on, and their parents knew that they had better begin opening gifts before furniture - and possibly bodies - began to break. And so the man of the house was delegated to go upstairs and wake his first-born while his wife brewed a second pot of coffee in compensation. He opened Kim's door and climbed the stairs up to her room, treading softly on the carpeted floor.  
  
The main floor of the room was littered with clothes, books, magazines, backpacks, shopping bags and pretty much everything else Kim's father had told her to put away before she left for the party. Her computer was still on, the screensaver flashing images of her and Ronald on missions together, as were a good number of lights and the radio too - at low volume though. She must have cracked a window open when she got home early that morning from New York, since he could feel a icy, winter breeze wafting through the room. This, he guessed, was probably why no part of his daughter's body was visible underneath the covers.  
  
It had been almost three in the morning when they'd heard the front door open, and Kim call out softly: "I'm home", so her father was tempted to let her sleep in. She'd had it hard enough the past few weeks, with all the missions and exams, so he didn't really want to steal another night's sleep from her. It had reached a point where they no longer even got up to ask Kim how her evening went, since they too needed sleep, and waking up at three every morning didn't do a body good. But then he remembered the anxious twins downstairs, and envisioned the destruction that would follow any further postponement of the Christmas morning activities.  
  
"Kim, Kimmie? Are you awake?" he called softly to the mane of fiery red hair snaking out from underneath the jumble of covers on the bed. A deep- throated groan came in reply, surprising him as the lump underneath the duvet began to shift. He guessed her voice must be hoarse from the previous evening's mission, but had a feeling he'd heard that voice before. And it wasn't that of his daughter, or any of his other children either.  
  
"Kimmie-cub," he called out, hoping the use of her nickname would wake her. "It's Christmas morning, remember? Don't you want to come downstairs and open your presents?" he asked, hoping the promise of presents would expedite the awakening process, which usually took up to half an hour with Kim.  
  
To his astonishment, a few odd blond locks poked out from under the covers, followed by the head and naked chest of Ron Stoppable. Dr. Possible gasped, not knowing what to say as Kim also rose from the bed, equally nude. When she noticed her father staring at her in utter disbelief, she quickly covered her bare breasts and smiled demurely, trying not to look him in the face in case she burst out laughing. But it was no laughing matter to Dr. Possible - definitely not. The time it took him to deduce what had happened in Kim's room after she and Ronald had returned home could only be described in millionths of a second. In a flash he switched from a still half asleep human male to the most dangerous mammal on the planet - the overprotective father.  
  
Suppressing the urge to rip Ron's arms from his sockets for even contemplating such a heinous crime as touching his daughter, he scanned the room for any incriminating evidence. Evidence he could use to prove to the cops that beating the teenager to death was justified. Such as a pair of boxers, women's underwear and a red bra on the carpeted floor near the bed, followed by a half empty box of prophylactics on the bedside table. Dr. Possible knew in the back of his mind somewhere that he should be relieved that at least there wouldn't be a baby at the end of all this. But keeping his murderous half from beating the boy within an inch of his life - or further - was taking up all the constraint and patience he had left.  
  
"RONALD!" he finally exclaimed once he regained the use of his vocal chords. Which he then summarily lost, and stood there with his mouth open like a stunned catfish.  
  
Ron knew that there was no beating about the bush in this situation, and so tried to be as friendly as possible: "Hiya Dr. P, how's it going?"  
  
Dr. Possible just stood there, fuming.  
  
"Sorry to disappoint you," Ron continued, knowing that what he was about to do was idiotic at best, suicidal at worst. "But I think Kim's already opened her Christmas present. Isn't that right Kim?" He nudged Kim in a sensitive spot to evict a reply, but all she did was giggle uncontrollably - mostly in embarrassment.  
  
"WHAT FUCKING PRESENT!" her father yelled, his face red with rage at the gall of this teenager.  
  
Trying not to crack a smile, Ron replied softly with two words:  
  
"Me, actually."  
  
Author's Note: Drakken's Replacement will receive a new chapter by next Wednesday, so hope you all enjoy that. Can't promise anything earthshattering, but maybe a few rumbles here and there. Sorry for the length of this story, I know some of you will probably want it to be continued, but it ain't gonna happen. This was a test balloon, a way for me to see what writing and finishing an entire story is like, so I would appreciate as many comments as possible on what I can do better, what I should stop doing. That kinda stuff.  
  
Thanks for the help guys,  
  
LN 


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